Alternative History - Chapter 7 - Stroke and Hospital

In the Previous Chapter:

Mattias invites Lucia to the cinema, and she agrees because she wants to spend a quiet, carefree time with her friend. Tavo overhears their conversation and wishes Lucia a pleasant evening, which later makes her wonder how the whole situation might have looked from his perspective. At first, she tries to back out by claiming she has a headache, especially after realizing that Mattias sees their outing as a date. In the end, however, she agrees to go to the cinema with him, appreciating the effort he has made. She makes it clear that she sees him only as a friend because she loves someone else — admitting it out loud for the first time.

The evening doesn't go entirely as carefree as planned, though. The film triggers a painful childhood memory for Lucia: witnessing her father's murder. Mattias manages to lift her spirits, however. When they return home, Lucia and Mattias find Tavo and Kuka embracing in the living room.

While they were away, Tavo and Kuka had been called to the police station after an underage model was caught sneaking into a nightclub. The two of them help her get home. The following day, Lucia and Tavo clear up the misunderstanding involving Maria Azul and Lucia's evening with Mattias. Lucia is worried about her mother's strange behavior. When she tries to talk to her, Rosa suddenly suffers a stroke and is rushed to the hospital.

Alternative History - Chapter 7 - Stroke and Hospital

Phone a friend

At José de San Martín Hospital, everything happened quickly, but without any sense of urgency—as though time had ceased to belong to people and had begun following rules of its own. Doctors and nurses moved efficiently, issuing brief instructions, opening one door after another and disappearing behind them as quickly as they appeared. To Lucia, all those sounds blurred into one steady hum, broken only by the uneven pounding of her own heart.

She stood in the hallway with her arms wrapped around herself, as though she could hold back the growing chill that way. Through the glass doors, she had seen the doctors leaning over Rosa only moments earlier. Then the curtain was drawn.

She had no idea how much time had passed before the doctor finally stepped out of the room.

"Have you calmed down a little?" he asked gently.

Lucia nodded, although they both knew there wasn't a trace of truth in the gesture. The doctor searched for the right words for a moment.

"Most likely, your mother is having problems with the blood vessels in her brain. We need to run some additional tests to make sure everything is all right."

Lucia's heart clenched painfully.

"Is she very sick?"

The doctor didn't answer immediately.

"That depends on the extent of the damage. That's why I said we need to carry out the necessary tests and examinations."

Lucia felt the ground slipping out from beneath her feet.

"You didn't mention any damage..."

"Don't worry. It may be minor. If that's the case, there won't be any reason to fear serious consequences."

She tried to stay calm. She really did.

But it took only one word—damage—for all the strength she had managed to summon only moments earlier to begin falling apart. Instinctively, she covered her mouth with her hand. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them. She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed of her own helplessness.

The doctor watched her for a moment, his expression full of sympathy.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen that kind of fear.

"Listen... do you have any other family? A father? A brother?"

Lucia slowly shook her head.

"No. My father is dead. It's just my mother and me."

As she said the words, she felt their weight more heavily than she ever had before. All her life, it had been enough that there were two of them. She had never thought of it as loneliness.

Only now did it sound different.

The doctor fell silent for a moment.

"What about a neighbor? Or a friend?"

For a fraction of a second, Tavo's face appeared before Lucia's eyes.

That very morning, he had said so naturally, Together.

As though there were nothing unusual about it. As though his being there for her was simply a given.

She didn't even have to think.

"Yes... I have a friend."

The doctor smiled with visible relief.

"Good. Call him. Your mother will have to stay here for a while."

Lucia nodded. After a moment, however, she gathered the courage to ask one more question.

"Doctor... could I see her?"

"You can go in, although she's unconscious. But I suggest you call your friend first. It's good to have someone close to you right now."

Someone close.

The words stayed with her long after the doctor walked away.

She didn't go into the room immediately. Her legs carried her almost on their own toward the end of the corridor, where an old payphone stood against the wall. The metal casing felt cold beneath her fingertips.

She took a few coins from her purse. They chimed softly as they dropped into the slot. For a moment, she stared at the keypad.

She didn't have to think about which number to dial.

Her fingers entered the digits on their own.

Tavo.

The phone rang for only a few seconds, but to her, each one seemed like a separate, endless wait.

Then a familiar voice answered.

"Hello... Lucia?"

He recognized her instantly.

Lucia tightened her fingers around the receiver. Only now did she realize that she had been holding her breath the entire time.

"Mom..." she began, but her voice broke halfway through the word.

She swallowed hard.

"Mom had a stroke."

"What? How? When did this happen?"

Lucia didn't have the strength to explain. Instead, she whispered quietly,

"I'm at the hospital..."

Silence fell on the other end.

It lasted long enough for Lucia to understand that, for him, everything else had just ceased to matter.

"Tell me exactly where you are."

His voice had changed completely. The surprise was gone. All that remained was the calm certainty of a man who had already made his decision.

"José de San Martín Hospital."

"All right."

She heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back, followed by the hurried sound of keys being picked up.

"I'm on my way."

Lucia closed her eyes.

"Tavo..."

She didn't even know what she wanted to say. To tell him to be careful? To tell him he didn't have to come? To apologize?

She never got the chance.

"I'm already on my way."

He hung up.

For a moment, she kept the receiver pressed to her ear.

For the first time since her mother had collapsed onto the sofa, Lucia felt that she wasn't completely alone anymore.

They were still separated by several streets, but she knew Tavo was really coming.

And somehow, simply knowing that was enough to let her finally take her first calmer breath.

Tavo's support

When Tavo rushed onto the ward, he saw her immediately.

She was standing against the wall, curled in on herself, her shoulders slumped. She hadn't even noticed that he had arrived. She stared blankly into the distance, absentmindedly biting her nail, as though the entire world had shrunk to a single point where she was waiting for news about her mother.

The sight of her made him feel something he had never expected to feel—helplessness.

All his life, he had learned to act, to solve problems, to find a way out of situations that seemed impossible to everyone else. But this time, there was nothing he could fix.

All he could do was be there for her.

Only a few hours earlier, he had seen her smiling, teasing him, laughing after she'd hit him with a calendar.

Now she looked as though someone had taken away all her peace in the space of a single afternoon.

"Hi, Lucia."

She looked up.

For a fraction of a second, she stared at him as though she wasn't sure he was really standing there.

Then she saw his face, and something inside her simply broke.

Tavo didn't even wait for her to come to him. He crossed the few steps between them himself and, without a word, pulled her tightly into his arms.

One arm wrapped around her back, while the other slipped gently into her hair and cradled the back of her head, drawing her even closer. He didn't think about whether he should. He didn't wonder if it was appropriate.

All that mattered was taking, even for a moment, some of the weight from her shoulders—the weight she'd been carrying ever since Rosa had collapsed onto the sofa.

Lucia returned the embrace immediately.

It was exactly what she'd been waiting for.

Her arms rose on their own and wrapped around his neck, and when she felt the familiar fabric of his shirt beneath her cheek and the warmth of his body, the tension that had kept her upright for the past several hours finally began to give way.

She pressed herself closer to him. So close that, for a moment, she felt that if she simply let every muscle in her body go limp, Tavo would still keep her standing.

She had never allowed herself to be this vulnerable before. Not with him.

And yet, right now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

She felt his hand moving slowly through her hair. The calm, repetitive motion wasn't trying to fix anything or promise things neither of them could guarantee.

It was simply a quiet assurance that she wasn't alone.

Tavo closed his eyes too.

Only now did he realize how frightened he'd been ever since her call. How many terrible possibilities had raced through his mind before he reached the hospital.

Now he could feel only her: the quickness of her breathing, the trembling of her body, and her fingers tightly clutching the fabric of his jacket.

With every passing second, she leaned more and more of her weight against him.

Not because she had no strength left.

But because, for the first time, she had stopped pretending she didn't need anyone beside her.

"I'm so glad you came..." she whispered at last, without lifting her face from his shoulder. Her voice was muffled. "This is so hard... I'm desperate..."

His heart clenched painfully.

He gently stroked her back.

"I'm here now."

He didn't tell her everything would be all right.

He didn't want to lie to her.

But he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't going to let her go through this alone.

After a while, Lucia reluctantly pulled away, as though she'd only just remembered where they were. Tavo didn't let her go completely, though. Their hands remained intertwined, and he looked at her with such focused attention that it was as if he wanted to read everything from her face that she couldn't put into words.

"How's your mother? What did the doctor say?"

Lucia shook her head.

"I don't know what he said. He talked about so many things, and I... I didn't understand any of it."

Her breathing began to quicken.

"Tavo, please... talk to the doctor. I really don't understand. He was talking about... about brain damage..."

The last words nearly caught in her throat.

Tavo immediately placed his hands on her shoulders. He could feel her trembling again beneath his fingers. He gave them a gentle squeeze, making her look at him.

"Calm down. I'll find out everything. Medical terms can sometimes sound much scarier than they actually are. All right?"

She tried to believe in his calm, but the fear wouldn't go away. Everything the doctor had told her tangled together in her mind with the image of her mother lying motionless in a hospital bed.

She turned abruptly and began walking down the corridor, wrapping her arms around herself as though she could somehow stop her body from trembling.

Tavo followed without hesitation.

This time, he didn't touch her. He stayed only a step behind, ready to move closer the instant he saw her beginning to fall apart again.

"This can't really be happening..." she said quietly. "I can't believe this."

She stopped and turned toward him.

"My mother was always so healthy. I can't remember her even having the flu... and now..."

Her voice broke again, and she looked straight into his eyes.

There was so much fear in them that he felt an almost physical pain.

"Tavo... if something happens to her..."

She broke off for a second, struggling to breathe.

"...I'll die."

He didn't let her say another word.

He pulled her into his arms again, even more tightly than before. One hand settled between her shoulder blades while the other wrapped around the back of her neck, slowly stroking her hair.

He felt Lucia instinctively bury her face against his shoulder, her hands resting on his chest, directly over his heart.

"Don't say that..." he whispered, drawing her closer. He pressed his cheek against her temple, feeling how tense she was, how her entire body was still fighting against something she couldn't bring herself to accept.

"Calm down, Lu. There's no reason to assume the worst. Especially when I'm here."

The words came out of him completely naturally. It was only a moment later that he realized they had sounded different from everything else he'd said to comfort her. Not like the reassurance of a friend.

More like something he'd been carrying inside him for a long time, even if he still hadn't allowed himself to put a name to it.

But in that moment, all that mattered was that Lucia should feel she no longer had to carry this alone. That someone was standing beside her—and would stay, no matter what happened behind the door of the room where her mother lay.

Lucia closed her eyes.

Her fingers tightened even more around the fabric of his shirt, as though that single gesture could reassure her that he was really there. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe with someone.

Not because she believed Tavo could stop the illness.

Not because his presence could somehow make everything suddenly stop hurting.

But because, with him, for the first time in a long while, she didn't have to pretend she was coping. She didn't have to be strong at any cost.

She could be afraid.

She could let herself cry.

She could lean against him with the full weight of everything she was no longer strong enough to carry on her own.

"Yes..." she whispered softly. "Thank you."

She lifted her tear-filled eyes to him.

"I don't know what I would have done without you."

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

There was none of the caution in her eyes that he had so often seen before. No attempt to hide what she was feeling. No pretending that everything was fine.

There was only Lucia—frightened, vulnerable, and trusting him more than she ever had before.

"You'll never have to find out," he said quietly. "I'm here with you."

And only then did he stop controlling every instinct that had made him keep his distance for so long.

Gently, he brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, where it had stuck to her skin damp with tears. His fingers lingered against her face for a moment.

Not long ago, he would have pulled his hand away, afraid that such a gesture might cross the boundary they had both guarded so stubbornly.

Now, neither of them cared where that boundary actually lay.

Waiting, eating, feeling helpless and falling asleep

By afternoon, the hospital had not become any less harsh.

The light coming through the tall corridor windows had changed its hue—the sharp, white brightness of day giving way to the muted gray of late afternoon. But it brought no relief. Time did not move normally in this place. There were no hours or minutes, only waiting.

Lucia had been suspended in that state for several hours.

The first shock had passed. The trembling hands, the frantic questions, the moment when every word the doctor said had sounded impossible to accept—all of that had faded.

Nothing had taken its place that could bring relief.

There was no reassurance, no sense that the worst was over. Only the emptiness between one piece of information and the next.

The door to Rosa's room remained closed.

Doctors appeared and disappeared. Nurses moved along the corridor with the quick, measured steps of people accustomed to witnessing other people's suffering, even though, for Lucia, this day was something she could never have imagined.

Tavo had stayed beside her the entire time.

He didn't try to fill the silence with conversation. He knew that no words could make Lucia stop being afraid. Sometimes he simply rested his hand over hers or touched her shoulder lightly, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

Each time, she responded to the gesture with the slightest movement.

Sometimes she squeezed his fingers. Sometimes she shifted a little closer, even if she didn't seem to realize she was doing it.

When he disappeared for a few minutes to take a phone call, she felt his absence immediately.

It was strange.

All her life, she'd been convinced she had to manage on her own. That whenever something happened, she'd find a way to survive.

And now, all it took was Tavo stepping out of sight for a moment for the same unease to return—the same fear she'd felt when the doctor had closed the door behind him.

When he came back, he was just finishing his phone call.

Lucia came quickly from the side corridor. It was obvious that, during those few minutes, she'd once again been trying to take control of everything she could.

"I can't find the doctor," she said immediately. Her voice was tense. "They told me he's in surgery."

Tavo looked at her and immediately saw what she didn't want to show.

Another wave of fear.

Another attempt to cope with something completely beyond her control.

He stepped closer and, without hesitation, lifted a hand to her face. He gently stroked her cheek, then let his fingers move through her hair.

"Calm down," he said quietly. "He'll come."

She looked at him for a moment, as though the simple fact that someone was standing beside her without asking her to be strong was something she still didn't know how to accept.

Tavo gestured toward the corridor leading to the cafeteria.

"Come on. Let's get some coffee."

Lucia immediately shook her head.

"No. I'm staying here. I'll wait for the doctor."

There was no stubbornness in her voice. Only fear.

Leaving, even for a few minutes, meant that something might happen without her and she wouldn't be there to respond.

Tavo rested a hand on her shoulder.

"All right," he agreed calmly. "I'll bring you a coffee with milk and a sandwich."

"No, thank you. I don't want to eat."

The very thought of food felt completely disconnected from reality.

Tavo looked at her for a moment.

Seeing how determined she was, he raised a finger to his lips in a quiet gesture of protest. But instead of stepping away, he gently stroked her hair again.

"You're going to do exactly what I'm telling you to do now," he said firmly, though there was still warmth in his voice. "I'm going to get you something to eat."

Lucia wanted to protest, but she didn't have the strength.

And perhaps that was what made him hardest to resist.

Tavo didn't ask whether he was allowed to take care of her. He wasn't doing it out of pity. He simply took some of the responsibility onto himself, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

When he walked away, she watched him for a moment.

Only a few weeks earlier, his insistence would probably have irritated her. She would have told him she didn't need anyone telling her what to do.

Now, all she felt was grateful.

For the first time in a very long while, someone had noticed not only what she said, but also what she was no longer able to say.

When Tavo returned from the cafeteria with a paper bag, he didn't even try to start a conversation about anything else. He sat down beside her and placed the bag on her lap.

"Try to eat something," he said calmly, more like a request than an order.

Lucia looked at him, but his words seemed to reach her through a thick layer of glass.

"I can't," she answered immediately, quietly, without putting up a fight.

"I know," he said after a moment.

And in those two words there was no pressure. Only an acceptance of the state she was in, which, paradoxically, allowed her to stop explaining herself for a moment.

Eventually, she took a small bite.

Not because she was hungry, but because with Tavo beside her, even simple things no longer seemed to require a decision.

Time continued to stretch.

Doctors came and went. The doors to the intensive care unit remained closed, and each hour without any news began to affect her differently than before—not like a shock anymore, but like something slowly wearing her down from the inside.

To Lucia, every passing minute seemed longer than the one before it.

Sitting still was becoming unbearable.

She would get up, walk a few steps down the corridor, stop by the doors, then turn back again, as though simply moving could somehow make whatever was happening behind them go faster.

Tavo watched her in silence.

He could see how increasingly difficult it was for her to maintain even the appearance of calm. Every few moments, she glanced toward the doors, listening for every sound coming from the ward.

Whenever she passed him, his hand almost instinctively moved over her shoulder or rested for a moment against her back.

He never tried to stop her.

He only wanted that, every time she felt his touch, she would remember that she wasn't there alone.

At one point, Lucia stopped in front of him.

"Tavo, why is it taking them so long?" she asked anxiously. "Why can't I go see her?"

There was less and less patience in her voice now, and more and more helplessness.

Tavo looked up at her.

For a moment, he held her gaze before answering calmly.

"Lucia, be patient. The doctor will be here to talk to us soon."

She shook her head.

"I'm not going to wait. If the doctor doesn't come, I don't care. I'm going to see my mother. I can't leave her alone for so long."

She broke off and looked away.

Then, when she looked back at Tavo, there was something in her eyes that immediately softened his expression.

"I really need her," she added more quietly.

Tavo looked at her for a moment without saying a word.

In that one sentence, he heard far more than fear for her mother.

Lucia was terrified. Exhausted. And increasingly aware that there was nothing she could do that would truly change her mother's condition.

And yet she kept trying to do something, because being powerless was almost unbearable for her.

He reached out and gently touched her cheek. His fingers moved through the hair at her temple, brushing it away from her face.

"And she needs you," he said quietly. "They'll call us."

Lucia stared at him for a moment without saying a word. His hand remained against her face for another second before he slowly lowered it.

Just then, the door opened.

Lucia turned sharply.

The doctor stepped into the corridor.

"Sir..." She immediately took a step toward him. "How is my mother?"

The medic looked at her and hesitated for a moment, as though searching for the right words.

"We've done a brain scan."

Lucia frowned.

"What does that mean?"

Tavo was beside her immediately. Lucia turned her head toward him for a moment, and he looked at her with the same calmness he'd been trying to maintain from the very beginning.

"Does that mean she's doing better?" he asked. "She's not in danger?"

The doctor shook his head.

"We can't say that for certain while she's still unconscious. We have to wait. I'm very sorry."

Lucia pressed her lips together.

Only moments earlier, she'd been forcing herself to keep moving, convincing herself that she had to do something—find the doctor, get into her mother's room, learn anything she could.

Now she had been given no answer she could hold on to.

There was no improvement, but there were no words that meant the worst, either.

Only more waiting.

The doctor gave them an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Yes. Thank you," Tavo replied.

The medic walked away.

Lucia took two steps in the opposite direction. She lowered her head, as though she'd suddenly lost the strength to hold it up. For a moment, she stood completely still, trying to swallow what she'd just heard.

Tavo watched her closely.

He could see her shoulders trembling. The way she clenched her fingers in an effort to hold back her tears. The way she tried once again to pull herself together, even though this time there was nothing left to draw from.

He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder.

Lucia turned.

Their eyes met for barely a second.

There was no anger or impatience in her expression anymore.

Only fear.

Pure, helpless fear—the fear of someone who had just realized there was nothing more she could do.

Tavo didn't even have time to say a word.

Lucia threw herself into his arms.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, as though she needed something solid to hold on to so she wouldn't fall apart. Tavo immediately closed his arms around her and pulled her close.

Her face pressed against his neck. He felt the warmth of her tears against his skin.

One hand held her firmly around the waist, while the other slipped into her hair and gently held her head against his shoulder.

He didn't try to calm her with words.

This time, no words could do what his embrace could.

Lucia pressed herself even closer to him.

And for the first time that day, Tavo allowed himself to stop thinking about whether his closeness was appropriate, whether he should keep his distance, whether he was crossing a boundary they had both guarded so carefully until only recently.

He simply held her.

For as long as she needed him to.

Lucia slowly began to calm down after a while.

For some time, she walked along the corridor, back and forth, as though the simple act of moving might somehow influence what was happening behind the closed doors. There was still no room for stillness in her mind. The tension had nowhere to go, so she had to burn it off somehow—even if all she could do was turn it into footsteps.

Tavo didn't interrupt her. He sat quietly, watching her with focused attention, allowing her to remain in that rhythm for a little longer, until her own body decided it could go no further. He already knew from experience that pacing solved nothing—but he wasn't going to take that away from her either. He understood that, for the moment, it was the only thing giving her the illusion that she still had some control.

And eventually, it began to wear her down.

With each passing hour, her movements lost their pace.

Her steps became slower, less certain, until they no longer looked like an attempt to regain control of the situation, but simply an instinct with no real purpose left. Her body was beginning to overrule her will, quietly refusing to cooperate any longer.

At one point, she simply stopped.

Not because she had made a decision. She just couldn't walk anymore.

There wasn't a single, clear thought in her mind—only the heavy, almost suffocating awareness that nothing she did could change what was happening behind those doors. And the more she tried to "wait it out on her feet," the more exhausted she became from fighting something she couldn't control anyway.

Tavo gestured toward the chair beside him.

"Come here," he said quietly.

There was no pressure in his voice. No command.

Just something simple and steady that didn't require her to make another decision.

Lucia hesitated for a second, more out of habit than actual resistance. A brief, exhausted thought crossed her mind: I should hold on a little longer.

But her body no longer had the strength to support it.

She sat down beside him, and Tavo wrapped an arm around her.

The moment she felt his arm around her and the reassuring weight of his presence, something inside her finally gave way—not suddenly, but like a taut string that at last stops trembling.

There was nothing dramatic about the change. It was quiet, almost imperceptible.

Suddenly, she didn't have to keep herself standing.

She didn't have to analyze anything.

She didn't have to stay alert.

She leaned against him without thinking, because her body knew faster than her mind where it was safer.

Her head found a place against his chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and for a moment something deeply instinctive returned to her.

Rhythm.

Tavo's breathing was even, steady, unchanging, and without realizing it, Lucia began to match it. Her own breathing slowed, although only moments earlier it had been broken and restless.

Tavo felt her body change in his arms.

It was no longer rigid with tension. Slowly, she grew heavier, more present, until she finally stopped fighting herself.

He held her carefully but securely, one arm supporting her so she wouldn't slip further down, the other resting against her back in a calm, repetitive motion.

For a while, he stared down the empty corridor, but in truth he saw nothing beyond her.

There was only one persistent thought in his mind now, no longer a decision but an instinct:

As long as she was sitting there in that state, he simply wasn't going anywhere.

Then her breathing slowed even further.

Lucia never noticed the moment she fell asleep.

The tension gradually disappeared until her body stopped responding to anything except the warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of his breathing, which had become the only constant in the entire day.

Tavo felt it in the weight of her head.

He didn't move, even when his arm began to go numb and the uncomfortable position started to make itself known.

None of it mattered.

For the first time in a long while, she wasn't trying to control every instinctive reaction. She wasn't wondering whether she was being too weak or showing too much.

She had simply allowed him to be there.

He moved his hand to her hair and left it there.

He didn't want anything more.

He didn't want to wake her. He didn't want to break this moment in which, for the first time, she had allowed him to become something more to her.

Very carefully, afraid of disturbing her, he stopped a passing nurse.

"Excuse me... could I have a blanket?" he asked quietly.

The woman looked at Lucia and nodded without a word. When she returned, she gently covered her, and Tavo adjusted the blanket so it wouldn't slip from her shoulders.

Only then did he lean back a little more, but he still didn't stop holding her.

Even sleep wasn't enough of a reason for him to stop keeping watch.

Lucia slept for a long time.

And he didn't leave her side for even a moment.

Sleep was needed

Tavo sat perfectly still, holding her in his arms, simply watching her.

She slept peacefully against his chest, her face so relaxed that it looked as though someone had finally lifted the weight of the entire day from her shoulders. In sleep, she was different from the woman he'd known while she was awake—less guarded, less determined to hold herself together, more honest in her vulnerability.

He could look at her without any distractions, surrounded by a silence that asked nothing of him. No words. No response.

Her breathing was calm. Only a few hours earlier, it had been broken and tense; now it was even and soft, as though her body had finally allowed itself something it had refused to surrender to all day.

Her lips were slightly parted, without any trace of the alertness he was so accustomed to seeing in her at work. Every now and then, her eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly, as though sleep wasn't something she completely trusted—as if even now it might fall apart at any moment.

Her hair had fallen loosely across his shirt, soft and untidy, completely out of place in the sterile surroundings. The hospital corridor was too cold, too unfamiliar for something so delicate. And yet, somehow, it was here that she looked most natural—not as someone trying to control everything, but as someone who had finally stopped trying.

Tavo caught himself unable to take his eyes off her.

Only a few weeks ago, he would have tried to convince himself that what he felt was simply concern. Responsibility. Attachment.

Now, it was becoming harder and harder to believe that.

But he didn't need to define it.

It was enough to feel what came over him whenever he looked at her sleeping in his arms: the relief of knowing she was safe, and a strange, deep certainty that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

In the silence, where no one expected anything from him, a thought came to him—simple and yet dangerously obvious:

She shouldn't be here alone. Not because it was his responsibility. Simply because the idea of her being here without him no longer seemed possible.

And holding her in his arms now required no effort at all. It was as though his body had made the decision before he had, before he'd had the chance to name it or question it.

He didn't take the thought any further.

He simply stayed.

He didn't move an inch, as though even the smallest gesture might disturb something that, for the moment, was the only stable thing in the entire day.

One hand remained around her waist, while the other rested in her hair. Every now and then, his fingers moved slowly through the soft strands, almost absentmindedly.

It was no longer a gesture meant to comfort her. She was asleep. She didn't need calming.

He simply wanted to touch her.

It was only when her breathing changed rhythm that something in that peaceful picture began to stir.

At first, barely perceptibly, as though she were returning from somewhere that was easier than this place.

Lucia didn't open her eyes immediately.

For another moment, she remained in that state where the body awakens before the mind does. She felt warmth, the weight of a hand against her, the familiar rhythm of breathing close beside her.

And for a moment, she had no desire to return. She simply existed there, suspended in something too peaceful to belong to ordinary life.

But the hospital slowly returned to her, inevitably. And with it came the memory of where she was and why.

She opened her eyes cautiously.

For the first second, she didn't know where she was. All she could feel was the warmth of his body and the weight of his arm still wrapped around her.

Then the memory came back.

The hospital.

Her mother.

The terrible day she had been living through.

And then she realized that Tavo was still there.

She didn't pull away.

Instead, before she had even had time to think, her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric of his shirt, as though she needed to make sure he really hadn't left.

His eyes were already on her before she was fully awake—calm, attentive, as though he hadn't allowed himself a single moment of looking away.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

Lucia swallowed, saying nothing for another moment.

She looked at him for a little while longer. Only then did she realize that her head was still resting against his chest and that his arm was still around her shoulders.

She should have moved away. That was what reason, habit, and everything she had considered obvious until recently told her to do.

She didn't.

"Better. Thank you."

Sending Tavo home

Late that evening, the hospital grew even quieter.

During the day, the corridors had been filled with footsteps, conversations, and the sound of doors opening and closing. Now most of that activity had faded, leaving behind only the dimmed lights and the occasional sound coming from behind closed doors.

The day was slowly coming to an end, although for Lucia, time seemed to stand still.

Tavo had been beside her the entire time.

When she sat, he sat beside her. When she walked the corridor, he watched her from a distance. When she fell asleep against his chest, he hadn't moved, even after several hours had left his arm numb and aching. And when she woke, he was still holding her—and even then, neither of them had tried to immediately return to the safe distance they'd once considered necessary.

Now, however, Lucia stood beside him, looking toward the closed doors of the ward.

She was so exhausted that she could feel it in every part of her body, but the thought that Tavo had spent almost the entire day here wouldn't leave her alone.

Eventually, she turned to him.

"Tavo... go home," she said quietly.

He looked at her as though, for a moment, he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.

"You've been here half the day," she added after a moment. "You should get some rest."

He didn't answer immediately.

He watched her carefully, trying to understand what was really behind her words. There was no coldness in them. She wasn't trying to push him away.

There was concern.

And something else Lucia herself probably didn't want to acknowledge—the reluctance to see him leave, mixed with the awareness that she couldn't keep him there simply because breathing was easier when he was beside her.

Tavo let out a quiet sigh.

"You don't have to worry about me."

"Of course I do," she replied almost instinctively.

She looked at him, and only then realized how her words had sounded.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Tavo took a step toward her. "Lucia..."

"You came here. You stayed with me all day," she said before he could finish. "You really helped me. But you can go now. I... I'll be all right."

The last words came out weaker than she had intended. Tavo heard it immediately.

A few hours earlier, he probably would have tried to convince her that she didn't have to prove anything to anyone. Now, however, he knew her well enough to understand that this wasn't about suddenly no longer needing him.

It was something else entirely. Lucia was trying to reclaim at least a little control over her own life. And this time, he wasn't going to take that away from her.

"All right," he said at last.

Lucia looked at him in mild surprise, as though she'd expected him to argue. "Really?"

He gave her the faintest smile. "Really. But on one condition."

"What condition?"

"If anything changes, you call me. No matter what time it is."

Lucia nodded. "I will."

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Tavo looked at her as though he wanted to memorize her face—the tiredness in it, the paleness, the hair that after an entire day had nothing left of the polished appearance her work usually demanded. And somehow, it was now that she looked more real to him than ever before.

Lucia was looking at him differently too.

There was no longer that careful distance between them, the one that until recently had appeared almost automatically whenever either of them made a more personal gesture.

Tavo could touch her hair, hold her, pull her close. She could rest her head against his chest and fall asleep in his arms, and when she woke, she no longer felt the need to immediately move away.

None of it had really been a decision. It was as though, over the course of one difficult day, they had learned each other all over again.

Tavo reached out and gently touched her cheek. His thumb moved lightly beneath her eye, lingering there for a moment.

"Try to get some rest," he said softly.

Lucia nodded. "Thank you."

"For what?"

She gave him a faint smile. "For everything."

Tavo didn't answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. This time, Lucia didn't hesitate for even a second.

She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he closed his arms around her with quiet certainty. This was no longer the embrace of a man simply trying to comfort a frightened woman. There was something more personal in it now, more deliberate, even though neither of them was ready to put a name to it.

Lucia closed her eyes. For a brief moment, she allowed herself simply to be in his arms.

Tavo lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss into her hair. It was a simple gesture, almost unmistakably tender.

And yet, when he began to pull away, Lucia held on to him for another moment. Only then did her fingers slowly loosen.

Tavo looked at her once more, then turned and headed toward the exit.

Lucia watched him until he disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Only then did she realize that although she was alone again, she no longer felt the same emptiness she had felt before.

Tavo had left, but his presence still seemed close somehow—in the warmth his hand had left against her skin, in the faint scent of his shirt that lingered for a little while, and above all in the knowledge that if she needed him, all she had to do was make one phone call.

For the first time that day, being alone no longer felt like something she had to be afraid of.

Dinner with Pedro and a joke

When Tavo returned home, for the first time in many hours he found himself in a place where there was nothing he had to do.

And that was precisely why being there felt harder than being at the hospital.

The apartment was quiet. An ordinary, familiar kind of silence that had meant nothing that morning. Now it seemed almost wrong. Too peaceful compared with what he had left behind. Too indifferent to the fact that Lucia was still sitting in a hospital corridor, waiting for news about her mother.

He should have rested. Eaten something. Taken a shower. Prepared himself for the following day. For a moment, he even tried to convince himself that was exactly what he needed.

Lucia herself had told him to go home. She had said she would manage.

But the moment the apartment door closed behind him, he felt no relief at all. Instead, he had the unsettling feeling that he had left something behind that he shouldn't have.

Pedro sat across from him, a cup of coffee in his hands. For a while, he simply watched his brother without saying anything.

Tavo looked different from usual. He was tired, distracted, visibly somewhere else, as though part of him were still sitting in that hospital corridor.

"You know, the consequences of these kinds of episodes aren't always as bad as they seem," Pedro said eventually. "In general, recovery can be fairly quick. I think we should hope for the best."

Tavo looked up at him.

"I hope so." He said it quietly, but there was none of the certainty in his voice that he himself wanted to hold on to.

Hope was something he desperately needed, yet at the same time, he was afraid to trust it.

The doctor had said there was a chance. He should hold on to that. But every time he tried to imagine a good outcome, Lucia appeared in his mind.

Her face as she waited for news.

Her hands that wouldn't stop trembling.

Her head resting against his chest when exhaustion had finally taken away her strength.

And the moment after the doctor's words, when she'd simply thrown her arms around his neck, as though for those few seconds, all her hope depended on whether he would hold her.

Pedro set his cup down.

"You're very worried, aren't you? The doctor said there was hope?"

Tavo didn't answer for a moment. He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his head into his hand. His eyes remained fixed somewhere in front of him, but he wasn't really seeing anything in the room.

"There is."

One word. And yet, as soon as he said it, he felt as though he were trying to convince himself.

Pedro smiled faintly.

"Then that's good. We have to hope for the best. There's no point worrying about what hasn't happened yet."

Tavo remained silent.

He didn't want to think about the future. He really didn't. But the future had been coming to him on its own ever since he'd seen Lucia in that hospital corridor. He couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if her mother didn't recover.

What would happen to Lucia if she had to return to an empty room and, for the first time, truly understand that there was no one left for her to go home to. The thought hurt him more than it should have.

"I'm worried about Lucia," he said at last.

Pedro looked at him more carefully. 

"She's so alone. Her mother is all she has left."

The words sounded heavier in the room than Tavo had expected.

Only after saying them aloud did he realize that this was what had been troubling him the most. Not Rosa's illness itself. Not only the uncertainty of the doctors. It was the thought of Lucia having to go through all of this alone.

He remembered her face as she sat against the wall. The way she had clung to him when she finally stopped pretending she was strong. The way her fingers had tightened around his shirt, as though his presence was something she truly needed in that moment.

And suddenly, he felt that familiar pang. He shouldn't be thinking about it this way.

Lucia was a young woman he'd known for some time. She had grown increasingly close to him, although he still couldn't say exactly when they had crossed the line between being important to each other and something more. But today, in that hospital, the distinction had stopped mattering. He couldn't watch her suffer and behave as though it affected him only a little.

Pedro frowned.

"You're talking as though she's already dead."

Tavo immediately looked up.

"I'm not saying that's what's going to happen."

There was something in his voice now that hadn't been there before. Defiance. Not toward Pedro, but toward the very idea of giving voice to the worst possible scenario.

"It's just... it hurts me to see Lucia in that hospital. So helpless. So alone."

For a moment, he saw her again, asleep in his arms, peaceful only because she'd finally stopped fighting her exhaustion.

He remembered the weight of her head against his chest and the warmth of her body. He remembered the way his hand had moved unconsciously through her hair, even though there was no longer any reason to calm her. He hadn't been doing it for her. He had been doing it because he himself needed to feel that she was there.

And that realization wouldn't leave him alone.

Pedro sighed.

"I'm sorry to say this, but Lucia isn't the only woman who is suffering. Don't be such a pessimist."

Tavo looked at him irritably.

"What do you want from me?"

He stood up, crossed the room, and stopped by the window. Outside, the city carried on with its ordinary rhythm. Cars passed along the street, apartment windows glowed in the distance. People were going home, eating dinner, talking, making plans for the following day.

And Lucia was still sitting in that hospital. Alone. That one thought kept coming back to him.

"I just can't get everything that's happening to Lucia out of my head," he said more quietly. "Who's going to take care of her?"

Pedro said nothing for a moment. Then he answered with apparent simplicity.

"Well, you, for example."

Tavo turned toward him. Pedro was watching him with the faintest smile.

"But you're not planning to marry her, are you?"

For several seconds, Tavo simply stared at him. There was something almost absurd about the question. So absurd that, for a moment, he didn't even know how to react.

Marriage?

With Lucia?

Not long ago, the very thought would have seemed completely ridiculous. And yet now, he couldn't dismiss it with an immediate laugh.

Because before he could laugh, something far more dangerous flashed through his mind.

Lucia.

Her hands around his neck. Her head against his chest. The trust in her eyes when she allowed him to hold her. Her voice when she had said she didn't know what she would have done without him.

Tavo felt something tighten inside him.

No.

He shouldn't go down that road.

This wasn't the time for thoughts like that. Lucia's mother was in the hospital. Whatever existed between them was still too delicate, too new, too undefined to give it any kind of name.

And yet Pedro's question had touched something Tavo had been increasingly unwilling to hide from himself.

He wanted to be there for Lucia—not only today, and not only because she was going through a difficult time. He wanted her to know that whenever she needed something, she could come to him. He wanted to know she would never be left alone. He wanted to be the person she looked for when everything around her began to fall apart.

And that was far more dangerous than his brother's joke about marriage.

Pedro had apparently noticed his silence.

"Drink your coffee and let's end this conversation," he said, trying to ease the tension. After a moment, he added with a faint smile, "Did I say too much?"

Tavo didn't answer.

He sat back down in the armchair and reached for the cup, but he didn't even taste the coffee. He stared at it for a moment, lost in thought, then set it down again.

His mind was still in that hospital corridor with Lucia.

The same Lucia he'd seen smiling that morning. The same Lucia he'd left alone only because she had asked him to.

He should have rested and stopped thinking about her. He couldn't. And for the first time, he wasn't sure he even wanted to.

"I will always be with you."

The next morning, the hospital looked different only on the surface.

The light coming through the tall windows was brighter than it had been the night before. The corridors were beginning to fill with people again, nurses moving from one door to another, doctors appearing on the ward with the same calm concentration that, since yesterday, had become almost unbearable for Lucia.

Everything had returned to its usual rhythm.

And yet, for her, nothing was ordinary anymore.

The night had hardly been a night at all. It had been nothing more than another long stretch of time between one moment of waiting and the next.

Lucia had barely slept. Whenever she closed her eyes, the slightest sound was enough to wake her again, convinced that someone was walking toward her, that the doctor was about to appear, that finally she would hear something that would allow her to stop being afraid.

Several times, she had tried to rest her head against the wall, but her body simply wouldn't relax. She kept feeling that if she allowed herself even the slightest moment of inattention, something important would happen and she would miss it.

So she remained sitting in the same place where she'd been the previous evening when she heard footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor.

She didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

And yet, when she saw Tavo, something inside her immediately let go.

She stood so quickly that for a moment the corridor seemed to spin around her, but she paid no attention to it. She walked straight toward him and threw her arms around him without a word, before he had even had a chance to say anything.

"Tavo, I'm so glad you came."

Her voice was quiet and tired, yet for the first time in many hours, there was something in it that sounded like relief.

For a fraction of a second, Tavo was surprised by the gesture itself, although after everything that had happened the previous day, perhaps he shouldn't have been. He immediately put his arms around her and pulled her closer. He felt her back beneath his hands, then the weight of her body as she leaned against him for a moment, resting her full weight against his chest.

There was no hesitation. No question of whether he should allow himself such a gesture.

He simply held her.

And only when he felt her breathing begin to settle slightly in his arms did he realize how much he himself had needed that brief reassurance that she was all right.

It wasn't that nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

But she was still here.

When they finally pulled apart, their eyes met for a moment. Lucia gave him a faint smile, and Tavo returned it. Then they sat down beside each other.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Tavo looked at her carefully. He had seen her exhausted the night before, but now she looked even more fragile. Her hair was loosely tied back, dark circles had appeared beneath her eyes, and there was a weariness on her face that she could no longer hide.

And yet there was something different in her eyes compared with the day before.

"Any news about your mother?"

Lucia shook her head.

"Everything is still the same. The doctor said she was unconscious all night."

For a moment, she lowered her gaze. Then her face softened slightly.

"But I still insisted on seeing her."

Tavo looked at her with a faint smile.

"You did? And?"

Lucia smiled weakly too.

"She looked as though she was simply sleeping."

As she said it, she stopped looking at Tavo for a moment, as though the memory were so vivid that she had found herself back in that room.

"I went over to her and started talking to her. I stroked her hair."

Her voice trembled slightly, but this time it wasn't from fear. It was emotion.

"I'm sure she heard me. And that she calmed down."

Tavo watched her without saying a word.

He could see how much she needed to believe that. And he had no intention of taking that away from her. Maybe the doctor couldn't say whether her mother had really heard her. Maybe no one could know for certain.

But that moment had a meaning for Lucia that didn't need to be measured or explained in medical terms.

He smiled at her with quiet tenderness.

"I'm glad everything was all right."

For a moment, he let her stay with that memory, but then his expression grew more concerned.

"But now you should go home. Take a shower, change your clothes, eat something, and get some rest."

Before he could even finish, Lucia was already shaking her head.

Tavo noticed and sighed quietly. He knew that was the only answer he could have expected from her.

"No."

She gave him a faint smile, as though the mere knowledge that he was going to try to persuade her again was something almost familiar by now.

"I know she'll call for me when she wakes up. And I want to be here."

Tavo said nothing for a moment.

This was exactly what he had been afraid of. Not that Lucia would refuse his advice, but that she would push herself to the limit because staying close to her mother had become the only way she could keep the feeling of helplessness at bay.

He looked at her, feeling his earlier firmness give way to something much softer.

"I understand all of that," he said calmly. "But I'm sure she'd want you to be all right, too."

Lucia opened her mouth to answer.

"But, Tavo..."

"Please, Lucia. Listen to me."

There was so much concern in his voice that it sounded more like a plea than an instruction.

Lucia looked at him uncertainly.

For a few seconds, she tried to hold on to the delicate smile she'd been using moments earlier to convince both him and herself that everything was under control.

Then something inside her suddenly gave way.

Tavo saw it almost at once.

"What happened?"

Lucia turned her face away, but it was already too late. Tears filled her eyes, and when she finally said aloud what she had been trying to keep buried since yesterday, her voice broke completely.

"I'm afraid my mother is going to die."

Tavo felt a sudden tightness in his chest.

He knew that fear had been there. He had seen it from the moment he arrived at the hospital. But hearing her put it into words gave it an entirely different weight.

Suddenly, all of her nervousness from the day before, the endless pacing along the corridor, her refusal to eat, her inability to leave even for a moment—all of it made sense.

She wasn't only afraid for her mother.

She was afraid that if she lost her, there would be nothing left.

Tavo wouldn't let Lucia face that thought alone.

He raised his hand and gently caressed her cheek. With his thumb, he wiped away the first tear that slipped down her skin. He never looked away from her.

"Don't say that," he said quietly. "That won't happen."

Lucia closed her eyes beneath his touch, but more tears continued to gather in them.

"What if it does?"

Tavo looked at her in silence for a moment.

It was a question with no honest answer.

He couldn't promise her that her mother would recover. He couldn't change what was happening behind those closed doors. There was only one thing he could do—something that was truly within his power.

He couldn't take her fear away.

But he could make sure she didn't have to carry it alone.

His hand was still resting against her cheek. He stroked it once more, slowly and reassuringly, then let his fingers move gently toward her hair.

Lucia didn't pull away. On the contrary, she tilted her face almost imperceptibly into his hand, as though his touch was something she needed just as much as his words.

Tavo looked deeply into her eyes.

"You won't be alone," he said.

He hesitated for only a fraction of a second before adding what had become increasingly clear to him since the day before.

"I will always, always, be with you. Trust me."

Lucia looked at him for a long moment, his hand still gently cradling her face.

She didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

For the first time since it had all begun, she allowed herself simply to believe that when the worst moment came, she wouldn't have to face it alone.

Tavo’s absent-mindedness and professional concern

That same morning, the agency was moving at its usual pace—phones ringing, paperwork piling up, someone moving from one room to another with a cup of coffee in hand. Only Tavo seemed unable to fully settle into the rhythm.

He sat behind his desk, but his attention kept drifting somewhere far away. He answered questions automatically, looked through documents, then returned to them without being entirely sure what he'd just read. At one point, he caught himself staring at the same spot for far too long, barely registering the conversation taking place a few steps away.

Kuka noticed it before he did. She leaned against the back of the chair in his office and watched him for a moment.

"Are you even here today?" she asked dryly.

Tavo looked up, as though only now remembering where he was.

"I am," he replied immediately, a little too quickly.

Kuka raised an eyebrow.

"Yesterday you postponed two meetings with potential clients because of the hospital. Today you're barely listening to half of what people say to you. That's not like you."

Tavo didn't answer.

Kuka watched him in silence for a moment, as though wondering whether she should say what had just occurred to her.

"You're getting too involved."

Tavo leaned back slightly in his chair, assuming the same calm, composed posture he usually adopted whenever a conversation began to touch on something he didn't want to reveal.

Lucia's image immediately appeared in his mind.

Not the Lucia from the agency, confident and focused, able to answer any question and determined never to let anyone see when something truly affected her.

The Lucia from the hospital corridor.

Exhausted, frightened, and so stripped of her usual sense of control that, in the end, she'd simply allowed him to hold her.

He remembered the weight of her body against his chest. The warmth of her head against his neck. Her fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt, as though she needed to make sure he was really there. And he remembered that once she'd fallen asleep, he hadn't wanted to let her go.

The memory was far too fresh to be reduced to a single word: concern.

"This isn't about getting involved," he said calmly at last. "Rosa's condition is serious. If this goes on, it will affect Lucia. She's part of the team, and I'm responsible for making sure she can function normally."

Kuka narrowed her eyes. "So it's a professional concern."

Tavo looked at her. "Exactly."

The answer came too quickly.

Kuka said nothing for a moment. She didn't look convinced. Rather, she looked like someone who had just heard the answer she'd expected, but couldn't quite reconcile it with what she was seeing.

"Fine," she said at last. "Just pull yourself together for today. You still have a meeting at eleven."

"Sure."

Kuka headed toward the door, but before leaving, she glanced back over her shoulder.

"And Tavo?"

"Yes?"

"You can't be responsible for everyone."

He looked at her questioningly, but Kuka said nothing more. She simply walked out and closed the door behind her.

Tavo was left alone.

For several seconds, he stared at the closed door. Then he sank more heavily into his chair and allowed his thoughts to return to the place he'd been stubbornly trying to keep them away from all morning.

To her.

Not as an employee.

Not as a member of his team for whom he felt responsible.

To Lucia.

To the look on her face when she'd seen him at the hospital that morning. To the way she'd immediately stood up and, without hesitation, embraced him, telling him how glad she was that he'd come. Only a few weeks ago, a gesture like that would have made him stop and wonder what it meant.

Today, he no longer needed an answer.

He remembered her smile when she told him about her mother. That brief moment when something other than fear appeared on her face because she had allowed herself to believe that Rosa had heard her. He also remembered what came afterward, when he'd tried to convince her to go home.

And then her tears.

"I'm afraid my mother is going to die."

He closed his eyes.

He could still feel his hand against her cheek. The warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. The way she'd closed her eyes when he stroked her, and how she'd almost imperceptibly turned her face into his hand instead of pulling away.

The old caution between them was gone.

More than anything, he kept returning to the image from the previous evening.

Lucia asleep in his arms. Her head resting against his chest. Her hand clutching his shirt. Her breathing slowly falling into rhythm with his own with every calm, steady breath she took. And that extraordinary feeling that, holding her, he wasn't doing anything unusual at all.

He hadn't wondered whether he should put his arms around her. He hadn't thought about boundaries. He had simply run his hand through her hair, and when she fell asleep, he stayed.

Even when his arm went numb and the uncomfortable position began to ache, it never occurred to him to move her away.

That was what unsettled him most. Not the fact that he wanted to take care of her. But how natural being there for her had become.

Tavo opened his eyes and looked at the documents lying in front of him.

He hadn't read a single word.

"I will always, always, be with you."

He had said those words without thinking when Lucia had asked what would happen if she lost her mother. At the time, the only thing that mattered was making her stop being afraid.

But now, sitting alone in his office, he allowed himself for the first time to think about those words not as comfort, but as a promise.

Was that really what he had meant? Was that why it was so difficult to return to an ordinary day when he knew she was still sitting alone in the hospital?

The answer came faster than he wanted it to.

Yes.

It was no longer about work. It wasn't about duty or responsibility for one of the girls at the agency. It was about her.

And perhaps that was why the words he'd spoken in the hospital no longer sounded like a promise he still had to keep. They sounded like something he had already begun doing long ago.

Kuka and Tavo's visit to the hospital

The hospital felt different that day. It hadn't suddenly become a calm or safe place, but the tension that had seemed to fill every corner of the corridors over the past twenty-four hours had eased, if only slightly. There was something in the air that Lucia was almost afraid to call hope.

She stood quietly, offering a prayer of gratitude for her mother's improvement. So she didn't notice Kuka quietly entering the ward until she heard her name.

"Lucia..."

She turned and instinctively embraced the woman.

"Kuka!"

The hug lasted only a few seconds, but Lucia didn't want to let go. Only after a moment did she step back slightly and look at her with a broad smile.

"Mom is better! I'll be able to talk to her soon!"

For the first time in a long while, there was genuine joy in her voice. Not cautious relief, not an attempt to convince herself that everything would be all right, but something that, even if only for a moment, felt like ordinary happiness.

Kuka smiled widely. "Really?"

Lucia nodded enthusiastically.

And that was when Tavo appeared behind Kuka. Lucia noticed him almost immediately. Her smile didn't fade. If anything, his presence seemed to complete the moment.

"Tavo, Mom is better!"

The agency director stopped beside them. He smiled at her with obvious relief, but he didn't move any closer. With Kuka there, he maintained the small measure of distance that they had both apparently come to regard as natural whenever other people were around.

"Really? That's wonderful news. You see? Your nightmare is over."

Lucia nodded.

"Yes."

She looked at him first, then at Kuka. There was still emotion in her eyes.

"Thank you for coming. I really needed this. Thank you."

Tavo answered with only a faint smile, but his gaze lingered on her for a second longer. He could see the difference in her now. He could see how much she needed someone beside her, someone she could tell that something good had happened. And although he said nothing more, he felt a warmth he could no longer dismiss as simple satisfaction that one of his employees had regained hope.

"And what did the doctor say?" Kuka asked.

Lucia immediately began to explain. "He said she's regained consciousness, and they'll be moving her out of intensive care to a regular ward. I can't wait to see her again."

Tavo nodded. "That's very good."

Lucia looked at him with the same smile, as though she wanted to hold on to this moment a little longer. Only yesterday she'd been sitting beside him, helpless, convinced that the worst could be happening behind those closed doors. Now she could finally say out loud that her mother was alive and had regained consciousness.

Kuka looked at her carefully. "Okay. You probably want to be alone with your mother?"

Lucia immediately shook her head. "No, what are you talking about? I'd like you both to come with me."

Tavo didn't hesitate. "All right. We'll go with you. Don't worry."

Kuka glanced at him uncertainly. The idea of all three of them walking into Rosa's room together might be a little awkward. But she didn't want to spoil Lucia's happiness. "Of course. We'll go with you. This probably isn't the best moment, but at least I'll finally get to meet your mother."

Lucia smiled. "Of course. She'd like to meet you too."

They didn't get the chance to move.

The doors to the ward opened, and the doctor appeared. Lucia immediately turned toward him, her face filled with expectation.

But the doctor didn't return her smile. "Unfortunately, I don't have good news."

Her whole body tensed at once. "What's wrong with my mother?"

The doctor looked at her calmly. "Everything is all right. Try to calm down. Her condition hasn't changed."

For a moment, Lucia simply stared at him, unable to understand.

Hadn't changed. That meant she wasn't worse. But only moments earlier she'd been told that she would soon be able to see her mother in a regular ward. In her mind, the two pieces of information refused to fit together.

Tavo's expression grew serious as well. "Then what is the news?"

"We can't move her. It could put her at risk."

Lucia felt her heart begin to race again. "But she hasn't gotten worse?"

"No, no. You can relax. You're too upset. I understand the situation perfectly, but I need you to calm down. Otherwise, instead of one patient, I'll have two."

Lucia lowered her eyes. She folded her arms across her chest, as though the simple gesture could protect her from another wave of emotion. She drew a deeper breath, trying to regain control of herself.

The doctor continued. "I'd advise you to go home and get some rest. There's nothing you can do here."

Lucia shook her head. "No, thank you. If I go home, I'll spend the whole time thinking about this place anyway. So I'd rather stay."

Tavo watched her for a moment.

The day before, he had let her stay until she herself decided she had no strength left. But he knew where her stubborn insistence on remaining at the hospital could lead. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had watched her fall asleep in his arms from sheer exhaustion, only when her body finally allowed itself to surrender.

He didn't want her to push herself that far again.

"The doctor is right," he said calmly. "You won't be able to help her by staying here. So let me take you home."

The doctor nodded. "Excuse me. I'll leave you."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tavo replied.

The doctor looked at Lucia once more. "And there's no need to worry."

When he left, Lucia stood motionless for a moment.

Tavo watched her carefully. He knew that with Kuka there, he couldn't allow himself the same kind of closeness that had come so naturally that morning. One look, a hand resting on Lucia's shoulder- that simple gesture that reminded her she wasn't alone. Now he had to find different words. Words that would let him take care of her without revealing just how far beyond his professional role his concern for her had already gone.

He took a step toward her. "Come on, Lucia."

Then he turned slightly toward Kuka. For a moment, it occurred to him that since he was going to drive Lucia home anyway, simple courtesy required him to offer Kuka a ride as well. He didn't want her to feel left out, and certainly didn't want the situation to look as though he'd simply assumed he would be leaving with Lucia alone.

"Are you coming with us?"

Kuka gave him a faint smile, as though the answer were obvious. "No, no. You're our resident comforter."

There was something in her voice that sounded like more than an ordinary joke. Tavo couldn't tell whether Kuka genuinely noticed nothing or, on the contrary, noticed far more than she was saying. But he didn't have time to think about it.

Lucia immediately shook her head. "No, I don't want to cause any trouble. I can take care of myself."

Only then did she look at Kuka, and for a moment she felt an uncomfortable pang of awareness. Only yesterday she'd allowed Tavo to hold her in his arms. She'd fallen asleep against him, and today his presence was bringing her relief again far more quickly than she wanted to admit.

She had no idea what Kuka might have noticed, and perhaps that was precisely why she was so anxious that she not see too much.

She didn't want Kuka to think she was taking advantage of Tavo's presence, or that she expected something from him that he had no business giving her as the owner of the agency. Or perhaps, even more than that, she was afraid Kuka might see just how badly she needed all of this herself.

Tavo looked at her carefully. With Kuka beside them, his expression once again became calm and professional, but his voice was gentler than the situation required.

"You aren't causing us any trouble. The most important thing in the modeling business is taking care of our models and helping them. And you're one of our employees, so we won't leave you on your own. Understand?"

Lucia hesitated for a moment.

She knew he was saying it primarily because Kuka was standing beside him. That beneath the professional wording was something much more personal, something he couldn't say openly in front of her. And that was precisely why the words were so easy for Lucia to accept. She didn't have to ask why he wanted to drive her home. She didn't have to explain why she needed his presence so badly.

She could simply let him take care of her. "Yes, of course."

Tavo nodded. "Good. Then let's go home."

Kuka adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. For a moment, she watched the two of them, as though making sure Lucia was really ready to leave. There was nothing else she could do here. The doctor had made it clear that the girl needed to rest, and Tavo's presence at least meant there was someone to make sure she actually went home.

"I'll go." She turned and headed toward the exit of the ward.

Lucia and Tavo watched her leave for a moment. Only when Kuka disappeared through the doors did something in his posture change almost imperceptibly. He no longer had to monitor every movement.

He reached out and rested his hand on Lucia's shoulder. The simple gesture was enough for her to feel that familiar warmth. "Come on."

Lucia took a step, but then immediately glanced toward the doors Kuka had disappeared through.

"Tavo, Kuka left..."

Sudden uncertainty entered her voice. Lucia couldn't shake the feeling that Kuka might have noticed something she wasn't supposed to. She didn't want the older model to think she'd deliberately left them alone, nor did she want Kuka to believe that her entire attention had suddenly shifted to Tavo and Tavo alone.

Concern appeared in his eyes immediately. His hand moved slightly higher from her shoulder, and then, for a brief moment, he touched her cheek. His thumb brushed gently across her skin.

"Lucia, please. You don't have to worry about her. Right now, you shouldn't be worrying about anything. Think about your mother instead."

Lucia looked at him.

Only moments earlier, she had been tense, as though every step required a conscious decision. Now his touch affected her almost instantly. It didn't solve anything. It didn't change Rosa's condition. But it allowed her, if only for a moment, to stop trying to control everything.

She nodded. "All right."

Tavo lowered his hand from her cheek, but he didn't move away. As they started down the corridor, he slipped an arm around her waist and drew her gently toward him, as though the gesture were the most natural thing in the world.

Lucia didn't protest. On the contrary, for a moment she allowed herself to lean against him a little more. And that was where something had changed.

Not in the touch itself. That had stopped being unusual between them long ago. What was new was that they needed fewer and fewer reasons to touch one another. Tavo no longer stopped to wonder whether he could rest a hand on her shoulder, stroke her hair, or pull her closer when he saw her beginning to fall apart again. Lucia, too, was increasingly less likely to treat his touch as something she had to consciously allow herself to accept.

It didn't mean that everything between them had been named yet. But their bodies were beginning to behave more and more as though they already knew the answer.

In the car

The car was quieter than the hospital, but there was no tension in the silence anymore. Only now were they both allowing themselves to stop pretending that the day still demanded anything from them.

Lucia rested her head against the window only a few minutes into the drive. At first, cautiously, as though checking whether she was really allowed to let herself do it. Then the weight of the day took over. Her eyes were half-closed, but she wasn't asleep yet. She was suspended in that strange state between waking and sleep, when the body begins to let go while the mind is still trying to catch up with everything that had happened over the past several hours.

Tavo drove calmly. Every now and then, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, more out of habit than any real need to keep watch. He could see how exhausted she was—not only physically, but in that deeper sense, as though after an entire day of tension there was nothing left inside her to keep her upright much longer.

"You can sleep," he said quietly at last, careful not to disturb the fragile calm that was beginning to settle over her.

Lucia didn't answer immediately. For another moment, she fought the old instinct to be "all right." She straightened her back and tightened her fingers around the fabric of her jacket. But the car was warm, the motion steady, and there was no pressure in his voice. Eventually, her body admitted that it had had enough.

"I'm not going to fall asleep," she murmured at last, more out of habit than conviction.

"You're almost there," he replied calmly, without a smile, simply stating a fact.

Lucia turned her head toward him. For a brief moment, she studied him as though trying to make sure he was still the same Tavo who, only a dozen hours earlier, had held her in the hospital corridor.

She said nothing. She simply let her head rest against the window again, this time without the slightest resistance. Her breathing gradually became slower and more even. Her shoulders relaxed, and her hands, tense only moments before, fell loosely onto the seat.

Tavo noticed immediately. He didn't say anything. He simply slowed down a little more, adjusting the rhythm of the drive to match her exhaustion.

For a while, he kept his eyes on the road, but the thought of what was happening refused to leave him. Not long ago, Lucia wouldn't have allowed herself such a complete loss of control around him. She had always had an answer ready, always known where to draw the line, always pulled away when their closeness became too obvious.

Now she was falling asleep beside him without even wondering whether she was allowed to.

Maybe it really was nothing more than exhaustion. Or maybe it was something else. Tavo didn't want to answer that question. Not yet.

His hand left the steering wheel almost without conscious thought. He reached down toward her hand, resting loosely on the seat. He stopped for a moment. Only then did he fully realize what he was about to do.

Then he touched her fingers very lightly.

He didn't want to wake her. But he didn't want to test whether she would allow him to touch her, either. This time, it wasn't about calming her or protecting her. He simply wanted to feel her hand beneath his, and once he did, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Lucia moved her fingers. She didn't open her eyes. Her hand remained where it was, and after a moment, one of her fingers almost unconsciously brushed across his palm.

Tavo went completely still.

It could have been accidental. The movement of someone falling asleep, no longer entirely in control of her own body. Nothing more. And yet his heart reacted before he had time to remind himself of all the sensible reasons why he should end the gesture.

For several seconds, he allowed himself simply to hold her hand. No words, no promises, no attempt to give the moment a meaning. Her fingers were warm and relaxed, so different from the way they had been only recently, when she'd nervously clenched them around her handbag or his shirt.

And that simplicity was the most dangerous thing of all. Not the fact that he was touching her. Not the fact that she was allowing him to.

What was hardest was how natural it was beginning to feel.

He could have driven on like that. With her hand beneath his, her quiet breathing beside him, and the knowledge that this time he didn't have to fix anything or explain anything. It was enough simply to be there. For one brief moment, he wondered if perhaps that was exactly what Lucia needed from him.

Then he remembered that he shouldn't allow himself thoughts like that. Slowly, he withdrew his hand and returned it to the steering wheel.

Lucia didn't move. She was still asleep, her head resting against the window, peaceful and trusting.

She had no idea that only a few inches away, the man who not so long ago had been able to explain her place in his life as nothing more than duty and responsibility was once again trying to draw a line between caring for her and something he could no longer name so easily.

Surprise for Lucia

The next day, Tavo drove Lucia home from the hospital again. Rosa's condition was still unchanged, but the doctors were optimistic, and everything pointed to her being moved to a regular ward the following day. Lucia was calmer than she'd been the day before, although the exhaustion still showed in her face and in the way she moved.

In the living room, Emanuel was watching television. When she heard the front door open, she turned around and looked at them with concern.

"Is everything all right?"

Lucia gave her a faint smile.

"I'm okay. I'm just tired. If you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower."

Tavo closed the door behind them and glanced at her with a slight smile.

"Of course. Nobody's ever complained about someone being clean. Go on."

Lucia let out a quiet laugh. It was brief and spontaneous, completely out of place after the last three days, and yet Tavo felt something inside him soften at the sound. Not long ago, her face had been almost constantly tense. Now he'd managed to bring a little bit of ordinary happiness back to it.

Lucia turned and started toward her room.

Emanuel gave Tavo a pointed look. Only then did he remember what had arrived at the agency that day. "Lucia, wait."

She turned, looking at him questioningly.

Tavo walked over to her and, before she could ask why, slipped an arm around her waist. The gesture was so natural that he didn't even realize what he'd done until he felt the warmth of her body beneath his hand. Lucia froze for a moment too, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let him gently turn her back toward the living room.

"Come on. We have a surprise for you."

There was something light in his voice, almost boyish. Lucia allowed him to lead her back, and when Emanuel moved over on the sofa to make room for her, she sat down beside her.

"For me?"

"For you," Emanuel confirmed.

Tavo sat down on Lucia's other side. For a moment, the three of them were sitting together, with the remote resting in the blonde model's hand.

"Don't be nervous. Are you ready?" she asked.

Lucia looked curiously at the screen, then back at her.

"Yes. Go ahead."

Emanuel turned on the recording.

The first shots from Iguazú appeared on the screen. The images were beautiful and dynamic, full of light and movement, and almost immediately Lucia stopped thinking about the hospital. She watched intently, recognizing each shot, her own gestures and expressions, which now, edited together, looked completely different from the way they had seemed while they were being filmed.

Tavo sat beside her, watching the screen as well, but every now and then his eyes shifted from the footage to Lucia. He watched the change coming over her face. With each new shot, more and more of the old Lucia returned—the girl he'd known at the agency, before the hospital, the fear, and the sleepless nights had taught her eyes to look for danger first.

When one of the more striking shots appeared on screen, Lucia smiled to herself.

Tavo looked at her. This time, he wasn't looking at her as an agency owner assessing the result of a job well done. There was a tenderness in his eyes that he no longer even tried to hide from himself.

That was when Kuka walked into the house. "Hi."

Lucia and Tavo both turned toward her almost at the same time.

"Hi," Emanuel replied enthusiastically. "Come here. You have to see Lucia."

Kuka came closer and stood behind the sofa for a moment. Lucia was still on the screen—beautiful, confident, completely different from the exhausted girl Kuka had seen at the hospital the day before.

She glanced at Tavo, and that familiar, unpleasant pang went through her. It wasn't even Lucia that hurt. It was the way Tavo looked at her.

Kuka had known his eyes for years. She knew the look he gave when he was amused, when he was assessing a situation, when he was angry or worried. She also knew how his expression changed when he looked at a woman who genuinely interested him.

But now, for the first time, she saw something in his eyes that she had never received from him herself. That softness. The way his gaze lingered on Lucia, as though her very presence meant something to him. His attention kept returning to her even when he should have been focused entirely on the screen.

Kuka thought of all the years she'd spent beside Tavo, and suddenly she understood just how different what they had shared was from what she was seeing now. With her, he had always been composed and self-assured, sometimes warm, sometimes playful, but he had never allowed himself the kind of ease she was witnessing beside Lucia.

It wasn't even about any particular gesture. What struck her most was how naturally he seemed to seek Lucia's closeness.

And that was what hurt the most. Not Lucia. Not even the thought that there might be something more between them. It was the realization that Tavo was capable of looking at another woman with the tenderness she'd wanted from him for so many years.

The commercial came to an end. Emanuel switched off the television, and for a moment, the three of them sat in silence.

"That was beautiful," she said admiringly. "It's a shame the campaign is already over."

Tavo and Lucia looked at each other.

For a moment, they both found themselves back in those days—the sunlight, the waterfalls, the long hours on set, and all the little moments that had seemed like nothing more than part of the job at the time. Now, looking back, what they remembered most was how good it had felt to be together.

Everything had seemed simpler then. More natural.

They hadn't needed to question every gesture or wonder why they felt so comfortable in each other's company. They had simply been together, enjoying the time they had.

Lucia smiled faintly. Tavo smiled back.

There was no regret in that brief exchange. Only the warmth of a shared memory, and something they had both carried away from those days, even though neither of them could yet put it into words.

For a second, they seemed to forget entirely that they weren't alone. Only after a moment did they look away.

Emanuel turned to Kuka. "So, what did you think?"

Kuka set her keys on the coffee table and looked at Lucia for another moment. She seemed visibly happier than when Kuka had said goodbye to her at the hospital. For the first time in days, there was something on her face besides exhaustion and fear.

Kuka smiled faintly. "Yes. It's a shame it's over."

She said it calmly, then glanced at the screen once more, as though she really wanted to hold on to the image for a little longer.

But when her eyes shifted toward Tavo, her smile disappeared for a moment.

Part of her wanted to look away and refuse to see what was happening between them. And yet it was difficult not to be glad to see Lucia looking this way after days of fear and sleepless nights, as though she could finally breathe again.

Kuka could be happy for her. It only hurt to know that Tavo was looking at Lucia in a way she had never once seen him look at her.

"I'm going to lie down," she said, heading toward the stairs. But before disappearing through the doorway, she stopped for a moment. "Lucia, get some rest, all right?"

Lucia looked up at her and nodded. "All right."

Kuka gave her a warm smile, although there was a shadow in her eyes that Lucia couldn't quite read.

Her good mood faded almost immediately. Tavo noticed first. He didn't ask what was wrong. He simply placed a hand against her back and began rubbing it slowly and reassuringly, just as he had earlier at the hospital.

Lucia looked at him. There was no trace of amusement left in his expression now. Only concern—so natural that he didn't need to put it into words.

She lowered her eyes. In an instant, everything she'd been trying not to think about came rushing back: the hospital, her mother, the exhaustion, and now the realization that Kuka might have seen something between them that Lucia herself still couldn't put a name to.

Tavo didn't stop. His hand remained on her back, warm and steady. Lucia allowed herself to lean into the gesture, if only for a few seconds.

He didn't need to ask whether she was all right. They both knew she wasn't. But this time, she didn't need an answer. It was enough to know that whenever everything began to feel like too much again, she no longer had to face it alone.

Chapter 8 – Hospital, Part 2

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